


Back Again

by The_Silent_Writer



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: After his journey, After the Lonely Mountain, Gen, He's Home!, Hobbiton, M/M, The Shire, Underhill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Silent_Writer/pseuds/The_Silent_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has finally made it back home, but things will never really go back to the peace and quiet he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Guest

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! I'm trying really hard not to spoil anything, and I haven't yet, but it might get hard not to when the boys really start to talk to each other. Just be warned!

Dark and silent Bilbo believed the night to be when he returned finally to his home in Bag-End. Gandalf and he had parted ways just as they reached the outskirts of Hobbiton. The hobbit, though very grateful for the wizard’s guidance through their journey, was glad that he could be by himself on the last leg home. He wanted to catalogue a year’s worth of thoughts, namely the memories towards the end of his adventure.

Dragon-fire and the lust for gold were the farthest from his mind, though he did have some spoils to keep his life well-off. What his mind tried to wrap around was the battle between the goblins of the North and the elves, men, and dwarves that had banded together. That, and the aftermath of said event. The Battle of Five Armies, as it would later be called, was something to witness. Though out-numbered, the latter group triumphed over the goblins, albeit with assistance from the Great Eagles and Beorn, the skin-changer. Though they had been victorious, the loss of so many great men, elves, and dwarves was staggering.

Bilbo shivered at the remembrance of so much death. Not only at the death he witnessed, but the death he brought upon others. He began to think, and when one thinks for too long (and with only themselves as company) a darkness can set in the mind.  _If I hadn’t offered the Arkenstone to Bard or the King…_ , he wondered, _would the battle or so much death have occurred?_

_Am I at fault?_

He continued asking himself similar quandaries on this final length of road. The longer he rode in silence the farther his spirit fell. Even with his cozy hobbit-hole in sight, the thoughts and accusations continued to swirl around in his little head. He began to blame himself, curse himself for the loss of his three greatest friends.

By the time he reached his front gate, some of the merriment of coming home had returned to him. His porch, and his garden, and his long, wooden bench were there to welcome him home from his even longer journey. A smile grew on his face at the familiar sights.

Home!

Over a year of travel, hunger, adventures and the like and he was finally home!

A sigh of relief fell from him as he opened his front gate. He could feel the fresh, green grass of June between his furry toes and he was met with the sweet fragrances of his flowers, which he had missed dearly. Though the veil of night was thick, the moon and stars shone brightly above and lit the hobbit’s way through his garden. It had grown hither and thither from being left unattended for such a long passing of time. Bilbo smiled to himself, already excited to begin his gardening again. He could already see that spring had come sweetly this year to Underhill and he was very glad that the only enemies he would be defeating were the weeds that had made their way into his territory.

A soft whinny from behind brought Bilbo out of his trance. He only just remembered the pony that had accompanied him all this way.

“Sorry, girl,” he whispered to her, stroking her snout gently. He made quick in relieving her of the heavy baggage she had been carrying for such a long way. Caring not for the gold and silver and other spoils now, Mr. Baggins laid each heavy parcel on his door step and returned to his trusty steed. “I can’t very well keep you in such a small garden…” he told her forlornly. “But, I do know of a pasture where you can graze and rest well until I can find you a proper home, Myrtle.” He smiled at the name he had bestowed upon her. He thought back to the start of his journey, remembering the first pony he had been trusted with. Her name, too, had been Myrtle and Bilbo thought it only right that such a fine name be given to the fine pony that stood before him.

He patted her nose again as he closed his front gate. He lead her a bit farther West, towards open pastures of thick, green grass and delightful wild flowers that the wild horses and ponies loved to graze in. They plodded side by side with no noises but their battered feet and hooves to accompany them. When they reached the open fields, the hobbit bid Myrtle a “Good night!” and turned on his heels for home. He made a note to himself to come and check on her after breakfast tomorrow.

Oh, how his morale grew at the thought of a grand breakfast. Bacon and eggs and toast with honey! It was far too late for the idea of food and Bilbo had grown tired now from his thoughts and the journey from Rivendell. But he did not deny that he was awaiting breakfast with an open stomach and a patient mouth.

Again, he drew closer to his hobbit-hole. This time he allowed himself to feel tired, and possibly a bit broken as he reared near. More than broken, really. He made note of his aching feet, bruised and battered body, and the soreness of his head. Though he had been clad with armor and a helm during battle, it did not take away that fact that he been beaten and bashed and burned. At the thought of being burned, his right hand went up to the back of his head. His hair was growing back fine now, but fingertips trailing his scalp found that the skin was still tender, even after many months of healing.

He was at his door step now. The porch was littered with his baggage and spoils of which he really couldn’t be bothered with at present. All he wanted was to sleep in his own bed, in his own home. He looked at his forest-green door with its bright yellow doorknob at its middle. The paint seemed faded from what he remembered and had many more dents and scratches than he could recall. Actually, the longer he spectated the condition of his front door the more he realized that there was a throng of scratches, slashing deep into the wood. He pondered for a bit if maybe a stray dog or a wild canine of sorts had wanted passage into his home. After looking around his yard, with its bench and little garden, he sent a small prayer for Myrtle’s safety and pushed the worrying thought out of his mind.

Finally, he put a faintly trembling hand on the large, golden doorknob (he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or the lingering of worry that made him tremble) and slowly opened the round door. At once he was greeted with the familiar smell of home; old, polished wood, the faint scent of citrus and spices of many kinds. He allowed a tear to fall as he sighed in happiness. _Finally!_ he thought, _I am home!_ Hurriedly he transported his spoils into the vast foyer, not caring where anything landed. There was always tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after next to sort through everything.

Until he was able to light a fire in the hearth in his homey sitting room, he left the front door open. This let the natural light from the moon and the stars flow into his home. He scuttled about each room, opening the blinds and curtains of the windows to let in as much of the shimmering, blue light as he could. Spending time in Rivendell with Lord Elrond and his merry elf-folk had taught him to appreciate the gift of light from far above. As he traveled through his little hole (finding dry fire-wood along the way) he found himself smelling something most odd. He wasn’t quite sure of what it was, it was a mixture of things, really.

Coal dust wafted in the air, bits of sulfur, something like metal—gold even. Through these rancid scents something savory-sweet made itself known. Cinnamon. It was faint, but there all the same. This is the reason Bilbo had been a bit off-putted to the smell. That saccharine odor clashed with the other harsh and cloying smells.

Ignoring it for now, and already finished opening the curtains, the hobbit made his way to the sitting room. There he began to make a lovely fire in the welcoming hearth. Once made, Bilbo chose to forgo his comfy armchair, figuring that the closer he was the better. He sat himself only a few feet away from the fire. Spring had already made the air warm, but for some reason he felt so cold. Sighing, he sat with his knees pulled to his chest and his chin resting on top, staring. All he did for quite some time was stare into the crackling flames.

A short spell went by only to be broken when he noticed that his fingers had been worrying the outside of his left waistcoat pocket. His gaze lowered to the small lump. He imagined its contents staring back at him. Towards the end of his adventure, he could swear that it looked at him, that ring. The boundary of cloth was no matter, it could see him and sometimes it even spoke to him. The first few times had startled the poor hobbit, but slowly he had become accustom to the ring’s beckoning. The want to wear it had not been great, unless he needed to—such as his excursions into the Lonely Mountain, or during battle. Now, with his journey at an end, the temptation was becoming stronger and this somewhat frightened Bilbo.

At the moment, though, he felt that the piece of gold was of no threat, held no malice. Continuing to trace its outline, he sighed. There would be much to do in the coming days.

A noise set everything to a halt. It was familiar, and it sent shivers down the hobbit’s back just as it did the first time he heard it. Growling... Of what he wasn’t completely sure, but he recognized it all the same. Bilbo dared not move. His fingers shook and his breathing so thin it quivered. He stayed motionless, staring at the slight bulge of his pocket. He wondered if he could quickly slip on the ring and make for an escape, but he knew it was for naught.

In a loud show of clattering and clanging, the beast leapt out from the shadows and tackled the hobbit. Bilbo shrieked in terror, sure that he was finished, soon to be devoured. With great strength the beast pinned his arms and legs to the wooden floor. He groaned at the movement, having hit his head yet again. His vision blurred, both from the trauma and the tears that welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t see his attacker, but he knew they were large enough to be some kind of man. Dexterous fingers adorned with sharp claws dug into the skin of his wrists, strong legs pinned his own.

Another low growl came from the assailant. Rage was obvious in its tone. Such rage Bilbo had witnessed before, but at the moment he couldn’t recall from where. All he knew was that he was terrified, just as he had been back then.

“Barrel-rider!” Low, livid words were choked out. “I’ve found you, have I not? Most certainly you are from Underhill.” A sadistic, nearly manic smile was evident from the voice.

Bilbo gasped, and ceased his struggling all at once. _No… It can’t be. Surely, it can’t!_ he thought. His mind was racing. He _knew_ that voice! He blinked the tears out of his eyes rapidly, trying to see the man above him.

Oh… But it was no man. Though not in his vast, familiar form, the hobbit knew instantly upon laying eyes on his person who this creature was.

Smaug the Terrible had returned.

Bilbo made quick to learn the dragon’s new body. He was tall, to be certain, towering above him with long appendages. From what he could make out by the light of the hearth, there was a thick, curly mop of black hair embellishing his brow with two deep-crimson horns resonating from behind his temples that wrapped loosely around his skull. He wore no clothes save a pair of dark-sable leather trousers that clung tight to his body. And his eyes… Well, they were exactly how Bilbo remembered them; piercing gold with red flakes like rubies strewn about. Enraptured with those eyes as Mr. Baggins was becoming, he nearly forgot the terrifying situation he was in.

Remembering now, he began to struggle once more but was no match for the dragon, even after a year of adventure to weather and toughen his body.

Smaug gave a ghastly snarl, baring his teeth at the hobbit. “Be still, Mr. _Lucky Number_ , or I shall end you—!” He was cut off by a fit of coughing and growled, a deep rumble that seemed to make the very house quake, when he could manage.

Bilbo flinched as he felt a drop of warm liquid fall onto his cheek. Trying to reach and assess what it was grew into a fool’s game with the dragon’s ever tightening grip on his wrists. Again, _drip drip drip_ , something fell onto his cheeks. He looked at Smaug, his face sculpted with anger. The hobbit gasped, noticing the burgundy fluid slowly flowing through a fanged jaw. He looked lower now, and saw the horrible, festering wound on the dragon’s left breast. Bilbo nearly fainted at the mere sight.

Still, the hobbit could see now that the rage in Smaug’s eyes was laced with pain. The dragon was hurting terribly, and though he had burned, threatened, and nearly killed Bilbo on multiple occasions, he couldn’t let another being hurt this much.

“Sm-Smaug, your Magnificence, if- if you would let me—“

“SILENCE BARREL-RIDER! Do not try to coax me with sweet words! You already know, YOU WITNESSED, my own Desolation!” Again, he had a bout of coughing and more blood fell from his lips. “YOU—! You—!” He could no longer speak, too weak from his wounds and the searing pain.

Before Bilbo could move, the dragon-man collapsed on top of him.


	2. By Needle and Thread

It was a nasty business trying to heal Smaug in near darkness for Bilbo, and an even nastier business of _actually_ healing him. The hobbit did the best he could though. Thank goodness for the light of his hearth. One of the first things he noticed about the dragon-man’s body was that it was so very cold. Colder than death it seemed, so the hobbit figured the only fitting place to set him was as close to the fire without risk of burns as possible.

“Dragon-man” was what Mr. Baggins had decided to deem Smaug. Though he was at heart a dragon, he had the body of a human, so the moniker only felt natural. Surely he would never call Smaug that in person! The consequences were likely to be dire if he did.

After lighting a candle he found in one of the many cupboard drawers, he made it his companion in finding the necessary tools of value strewn about his home. Cloth, a needle and thread, and a bit of rubbing alcohol were just a few of the things he brought back to the slumbering creature. Looking at what he found now, Bilbo knew this was, ruefully, going to be a nasty business…

His first act was to somehow tie Smaug’s arms up. The last thing Bilbo wanted was to be in the middle of his treatment and have the dragon-man wake suddenly. That would not only hurt the hobbit, but could potentially wound Smaug even further. Something like that was not what Bilbo wanted, so he made haste in using the strongest strands of cloth he possessed to secure Smaug’s wrists to his favorite armchair.

 _At least someone is getting use out of it_ , he thought (partially in jest, but partially in truth. He had wanted to relax into its soft cushions before he went to bed). It was no matter now. Someone – or something rather – was using it in some way and that was more than he could ask for, really.

Once fastened, Bilbo divided up the other pieces of cloth into two categories: cleaning and bandaging. He shuddered at the thought of having to touch and look upon such a nasty wound in a closer vicinity. Blood and the like had always made him squeamish. Just listening to Bofur’s initial description of Smaug had had him lying cold in his hallway. Oh… Bilbo swallowed and gulped for air. This was going to be difficult…

He looked at the dragon-man now, resting, bound, and assumingly harmless. He had to hurry lest his patient wake up before he even started, but for a moment he just couldn’t pull his eyes away from Smaug’s body. There were things he hadn’t noticed before in the heat of his terror.

His skin had the pallor of pearls, paler still. That silken skin was disrupted in places by patches of scarlet scales, cool and tough to the touch. One patch in particular caught Bilbo’s eye. It ran along the left side of Smaug’s slender face. Starting from the edge of his temple, the dark scales trailed down to a sharp cheekbone. They cupped his left eye, almost as if to accent such a stunning feature.

Smaug made a small noise and Bilbo finally snapped out of his stupor. Getting to work now, the hobbit took one of the rags and soaked it in rubbing alcohol. He gave a word of apology to the dragon-man (“Sorry, this might sting a bit…”) and went to clean in and around the wound on his chest. Blood, new and dried, was removed from the area. It was gruesome to look at, and Bilbo nearly splayed onto the wooden floor. He carried on though, knowing full well that he was the only one who would help the poor creature.

“Poor creature”: another thing he would never say out loud to Smaug.

He had finished cleaning the wound, but it hardly looked any better. It was a dark, ghastly hole in his chest, gaping to show muscles and maybe even a peek of rib. Bilbo felt so light headed now. His vision blurred and his hands shook.

He needed a moment.

Quick as could be, he stepped away from his patient. He paced around the sitting area for a short while, regaining his composure while he took deep, cleansing breaths. One heavy puff of air left his mouth and he was ready (as he’d ever be) to work again.

The area was clean now, he had been able to do that bit sitting next to Smaug. But to patch him up… He needed a better angle. The only better angle was from directly above which would mean…

 _Oh dear…_ Bilbo worried to himself.

Swallowing his pride and hoping that the cloth bonds would hold up, he climbed onto Smaug’s torso, crawling slowly upwards until he had the angle he needed. Bilbo’s small body moved up and down with every breath that Smaug took. It was an odd sensation, to say the least. Now, with needle and thread in quivering hand, he bent forward to begin suturing the dragon-man.

The moment the tip of the needle graced Smaug’s skin, his fiery eyes shot open. With a growl he struggled to get loose, only to wince at the pain from his breast.

“Barrel-rider…” he hissed, his voice even lower as it laced with even more pain. “You  _will_ release me now, or your death will be slower and far more excruciating than can be imagined.”

Bilbo swallowed, the colour in his face leaving. He would have relented to the dragon’s orders if he had not reminded himself of the horrible wound on Smaug. “I-I am sorry, but I can't do that. You are wounded and hurting and I’m trying to heal and help you, Y-Your Magnificence…”

The dragon-man went silent and stopped his struggling now. He was contemplating quite fiercely in his head as his captivating eyes scanned the hobbit from shaggy head to furry foot.

Mr. Baggins could not tell whether Smaug’s thoughts were of pure, honest descent or if they were twisted with malice and egotistical. But when a sharp, “Carry on”, was issued forth, Bilbo went to work again. The first few stitches were shoddily done and had the hobbit closer to passing out than ever, but he soon found the Healer in him. He stole glances at Smaug while he worked. The creature looked still, lifeless. His expression never changed, even with a needle and thread piercing his skin. He simply stared into the hearth’s flames. The hobbit shouldn’t try to wonder what the thoughts of dragon, one that had lost everything and had been suppossedly fatally wounded, would be, but still he did. He pondered on pondering and the thought of pondering from a dragon’s perspective for quite some time, even after he had closed the lesion. Time continued to pass and he spent it looking down at Smaug the Skin-Changer and reflecting on the reflections of a dragon.

Smaug slowly looked up at the hobbit, out of whatever trance he had been in. He noticed that the Halfling had finished his deal of healing and was just sitting, staring at him. Their eyes met and he did not fail to notice how the small body tensed above him. “Are you quite done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo jumped up from his spot on Smaug’s torso, trying to hide the heat of his cheeks. “Yes, quite… I apologize, O Smaug…” he murmured. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, becoming uncomfortable.

After some time in silence, Smaug spoke up. “Will you release me from these chaffing bonds, Luckwearer?” His voice seemed smoother, calmer than the other times he had spoken to Bilbo.

“A-And if I do, what then?” The hobbit asked defensively. He had learned not to trust anyone, let alone a dragon, when it was he that had the upper hand. “Will you slaughter me like a wolf among sheep?”

The dragon-man let out a breathy laugh. “On my honour, I will not harm you on this warm spring night upon obtaining my freedom.”

The Halfling thought for a moment. It would do Smaug no good to have what little honour he still retained tarnished by killing him… right? He could trust that the dragon-man wouldn’t try to murder him in some horrible fashion, surely… After a moment more of deliberation, Bilbo nodded and unfastened the cloths on Smaug’s wrists.

He was free now, left on the wooden floor. Smaug rubbed his wrists, bruised from his struggling.  _Clever, Barrel-rider_ , he thought. Bilbo had tied the cloth shackles loosely, but the more one struggled, the tighter they became.  _Very clever…_ “As a small recompense,” he began, “I shall tell or remind you, rather, of the mess on your face.” And with that, he rolled onto his right side and let the heat of the hearth's fire warm him.

Bilbo’s cheeks grew pink from embarrassment. He had entirely forgotten the blood that had stained his face in trailing streaks! How foolish he must have looked to Smaug; a dirty and unkempt hobbit he was! Rushing to his bathroom, and using the looking glass as a guide, he cleaned himself up and tried to look as presentable as he could.

When he returned to the sitting room, Smaug was exactly where he had left him, with eyes closed and his breathing steady. He looked almost comical, being so big and laying in such a small space.

Bilbo made a note to lock his bedroom door tonight.

“Good night, Smaug…” he bid quietly after adding a piece of wood to the fire. He sighed softly as he left the sitting room to close his front door and finally get the rest he so desired in his own soft bed of feathers.

“… Good night, Ringwinner…”


	3. Another Glimpse of Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes from a nightmare and is plagued with guilt. When he gathers the nerve to leave his room, he's terrified with what he finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning*  
> This is where the small spoilers come in! If you have not read The Hobbit (which you should totally do!) just be aware.  
> Thank you kindly.

Bilbo woke with a start the following morning. Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, he looked around his room. His room… In the Shire… He was home, how could he forget that? Light-brown eyes darted frantically from one familiar token to the next and soon he was able to release a few calm, albeit shaky breaths. He could hardly remember the horrors of his nightmare, but he was still frightened to the core. All he could think of now was the tremendous guilt he felt bubbling in his chest.

His chest heaved up and down as he fought to hold back his sobs. The guilt, he knew, came from one thing and one thing only: he was the one who got three of his dearest friends killed.

Now, those who have heard the Hobbit’s tale, are those that did not experience it first-hand. We know that Bilbo Baggins is not to blame for the unfortunate turn of events. The horrid Goblins from the North were already making their way to the Lonely Mountain. Thorin and Company knew the risks of reclaiming their homeland. Mr. Baggins was merely there as their burglar, and his job had been completed days before. For the one who saw to and hoped for a change, it was hard not to put the blame on himself. He had mislead his friends and (in his mind) betrayed them in hopes of saving both them and the people of Laketown. His heart and mind had been in the right place, but the timing of it all was regrettable.

The Halfling laid back into his soft, feather bed, hugging his knees very close to his chest. He buried his face in his quivering hands, ashamed of the pitiful face he knew he was making. He had already shed so many tears for his comrades months ago that now it just seemed foolish to mourn.

Time passed like this for quite a while, well into elevensies he laid in bed. Already three fine and filling meals he could have had, but all of those mind numbing and depressing thoughts had put him off his food. For hours he laid there, nearly motionless; moving every so often to wipe away a stray tear that would escape.

A loud bump and the clatter of wood and metal falling to the floor from outside his bedroom turned Bilbo’s mind in the right direction again. Quickly he sat up, not without almost falling off the mattress, in alarm.  _What in Middle Earth could have made such a noise?!_ he wondered.

Then he remembered.

_There’s a dragon… In my house…_

Slowly, and so very quietly (as hobbits pride themselves in being able to do) he crept to his bedroom door. He placed a dull-pointed ear to the entryway. Nothing. No other sounds could be heard. He sighed, taking a step back. The hobbit wasn’t sure what his next plan would be. He couldn’t very well remain trapped in his chambers for the rest of his days that much was certain.

His little heart was beating so fast when he reached for the latch. He was sure that the moment he unlocked the door Smaug the Terrible would burst in with flames and spear-like claws to kill him. Quickly, he unlocked the door and threw it open. Nothing. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“O-Oh.” He squeaked, relaxing his posture. He ruminated, for a moment, on what he had heard earlier. A bump and a clatter of sorts. Maybe the dragon-man had decided to leave? He supposed dragons heal faster than any mortal being, and all Smaug had needed was a night of good, warm rest and off he had popped. Maybe, just maybe mind you, if this were true Bilbo would have felt a twinge of loneliness, if it weren’t for the peculiar stench coming from his kitchen.

Bilbo could recall such a smell far too well for his liking. It reminded him of Erebor, of the hordes of gold and metal that cloyed the air. In the most uncomfortable way it brought him back to months previous, and now all he could think was that his homey little walls were in fact the vast, cold halls of the Lonely Mountain. His mind had returned him to that time as he made his way to the kitchen. His heart pounded in his chest, his trembling hands grew clammy. Each tiny step he took was sure to be leading him deeper into the lair of Smaug. By the time he reared his mess hall, he was choking back sobs with one paling hand over his mouth and the other on his hip where he swore Sting still resided. His eyes were filled with the old horrors of Erebor and this time he was sure his luck had run its course.

The sight he witnessed when he stood at the kitchen’s threshold filled him with horror. There, on his kitchen counter, laid the carcass of a sheep. Its snow-white coat was dyed a ghastly red as the life flowed from its protruding belly. Blood. Bilbo had seen that more than he wished to recall. In the past, the sight had not phased him as it was doing now. In front of him was slaughter, and it put a rancid, sour taste in his mouth. It painfully reminded him of the friends he had lost at Erebor, their wounds growing more vivid and vicious in Bilbo’s racing mind. He could see them now, in place of the sheep, their bodies thrown in a heap, blood, thick and angry, poured onto the kitchen floor.

And then he noticed movement. Movement from the one that had committed such a monstrous act. There Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities stood; eyes set ablaze and mouth smeared with the evidence of his deed.

So many things happened in that next moment after Bilbo’s eyes met Smaug’s that the hobbit could hardly distinguish what was real from fiction. He felt himself falling, knees and shins met forcefully with the hard, cold stone of the kitchen floor. It took time for his voice to return to him, his mind racing and spinning and recalling so many bad memories, and when it did no word was spoken. Only a sharp wail that pierced even his own ears ripped from his mouth, reverting into a chorus of pitiful sobs as small fingers cradled his head. They pulled at tufts of wavy hair, desperately trying to wake him from this nightmare. Bilbo crumbled into himself, laying on the freezing stone in a whimpering, shivering mess.

 

Smaug watched as the Halfling took his journey through insanity. Wide-eyed, he saw the strength leave the creature’s legs and winced as the high-pitched howl stabbed his eardrums. A twinge of worry entered the mind of the dragon-man as his eyes scanned the small, fragile form on the kitchen floor. He wasn’t sure what had caused the barrel-rider to react this way. The dragon understood that witnessing blood and the viscera of living things, albeit once living in this scenario, was not the hobbit’s forte. But to behave in such an outlandish way, Smaug couldn’t fathom what was going through the paltry being’s mind.

He swallowed the bite he had forgotten he was chewing and slowly made his way towards Bilbo. To the untrained eye he appeared swift and elegant in his movements, but Smaug could feel himself hesitating. A variety of thoughts entered and egressed from his mind at the drop of a golden coin that the dragon-man could hardly focus on a single one. He was curious, though assuredly still enraged at this being from Underhill, and wanted to discover the odds and ends of both the Halfling and his warm, gentle surroundings. Aside from their lust for gold and treasures, dragons are a naturally curious breed. They’ve been known to set aside past grudges or follies to quench their thirst for knowledge, though it typically returned the moment their inquiries were met. With the situation at hand, Smaug was worried he wouldn’t be able to converse and learn about his new discovery.

A clawed hand reached tentatively forward, tracing the curve of the hobbit’s arm before it was slapped away. Smaug emitted a low growl, the hair on his head and patches of visible scales bristling. He made another (his version of gentle) attempt only to receive the same result. The dragon-man couldn’t contain how agitated he had become. He snatched the small arms, taking the even smaller wrists into one of his hands while the other snaked up to the Halfling’s throat. Smaug was surprised how much restraint he was using when it came to binding his prey. If this hadn’t been his infamous thief, he was sure he wouldn’t have hesitated killing the small creature.

 

Bilbo struggled more in Smaug’s grasp now than he had the night before. He felt nothing but terror and panic writhe through him as his failed attempts at escaping continued. The look in the dragon-man’s eyes, pure anger and frustration, shook Bilbo to the core. Cold shivers ran up his spine as thin tears began to blur his vision. He couldn’t blink, not now. If he blinked and those warm tears fell down his face, he believed that would be the end of him. Smaug would take notice of his weakness and end his life.

As he stared up at his assailant, a ringing pervaded his ears. It was high of pitch and though his sight never faltered, everything else seemed to fall away. To him, he was in the dragon’s horde. The chill of the stone floor was the cold bite of bright gold and gems on his skin. Smaug resembled the enormous monster he remembered him to be. And through that incessant ringing he could hear… Voices. These were the voices of his fallen comrades. Their voices were a mixture of buzzing and whispers at first, but the longer he focused on them the louder and harsher they became. Yelling and screaming Bilbo’s name, cursing him for his betrayal and misdeeds. His eyes grew even wider when their apparitions appeared beside Smaug’s giant form. The King and Two Princes from under the mountain glared down at him with scorn and resentment. His former friends began their slander of his name and his trust again, while Smaug drew up a devilish grin sporting teeth like swords that glistened from the blood that stained them.

Bilbo tried to speak but each attempt was stopped by his heavy tongue and hesitant throat. He so desperately longed for the hateful words to end, but he knew he deserved it. The tears he had been holding back fell of their own accord as he bit his lower lip. He could taste the iron in his mouth. It was a small price to pay to keep from sobbing and in turn maintaining some of his shattered dignity.

He had let their curses be drowned out by the ringing until he caught a bit about him ‘not caring about the Company’. At this, Bilbo found his voice. “NO! That’s not true!” he screamed, “You are all like brothers to me!” A bit of life returned to the hobbit and he began to fight against the bond of Smaug’s talon-clad hand. His fighting stopped for a brief second as he saw the figures of his friends fading away. “No no no! Please,  _please_ , don’t leave again! WAIT!” He wailed, tugging at his restraints so hard he feared his hands might tear off. Another small price to pay if it meant the chance to reunite with his comrades. After they were gone, Smaug released a low, sinister laugh that sent coils of nausea to squirm in Bilbo’s belly. That bright, warm light traveling up the length of Smaug’s throat could only mean one thing.

Just as flames began to spill from the beast’s maw, he held his breath, forced his eyes closed, and couldn’t recall if they ever opened again.

 

Smaug looked upon his thief’s further descent into madness with a mixture of concern, shock, and intrigue. He had never witnessed a being act in such a way that his curiosity had peaked and he watched the Halfling with large, inquisitive eyes. When the hobbit’s eyes widened, his did as well, but with a flash of golden interest that the former’s had not. He could tell that the small creature was frightened, with his pupils restricted, breathing quicker, and his heartbeat pounding through his wrists. He knew this but couldn’t fathom a reason for the behavior. All the dragon-man had done today was go out (for he was feeling much better than he had in weeks) and caught breakfast for himself, and maybe some mutton that was left over would go to his thief if he felt so inclined to share. He didn’t understand what had made the Halfling act like a lunatic.

Until he started screaming and begging to the air around them.

 _Ah…_ Smaug hummed to himself.  _I had heard that speck, Oakenshield, had died in battle_. A low chuckle escaped him as he leered down at his thief.

He opened his mouth to speak to the hobbit, but stopped mid-breath when the small being flinched and fainted. Smaug saw the body underneath him relax, tears still streaming down his small, cool cheeks. Something about seeing his thief in such distress upset Smaug. He had not a reason, it simply did.

With a snort of agitation, smoke puffing from his nostrils, he released his grip of the Halfling’s wrists. Upon sensing his freedom, the barrel-rider drew his hands close to his chest and curled into himself. Soft whimpers came from him, and this only made Smaug worry even more. He wondered if worry was the correct name for the emotion he was exhibiting. It had never crossed his mind that concern for others (or rather, a far too fragile, hairy-footed, little creature) was something he was capable of.

He shooed the thoughts away, picking up his thief and carrying him over his right shoulder as if he was weightless. Ducking down, Smaug made his way to what he believed to be the bed chambers of the Ringwinner.

 _I really should trick him into telling me his name_ , he thought. It was an utter inconvenience to not know someone’s name and only being able to call them by the titles they gave or whatever Smaug saw fit to call them.

The room had been locked before, so when he first looked around Smaug’s eyes were darting from one object to the other. Yes, intrigue was one thing, but placing value and a price on items was always in a dragon’s top priority. The soft, feather down bed was at a nice price, but his thief could clearly do better. Even with the two chests of treasure (one of which Smaug had decided to reclaim, since it  _had_ come from his horde in the Lonely Mountain) he could tell that his thief came from well-off lineage.

There was a small pendant Smaug was eyeing that hung out of a jewelry box that was placed on one of the shelves behind a mess of papers, books and clothes. Normal eyes would not have noticed something so small and nearly hidden away by its environment, but the eyes of a dragon, which sought out such beauties could.

A soft mumble from the Halfling brought him back to the present. Carefully he laid the small creature on his bed. Seeing his thief relax into his familiar bedding sent a wave of contentment and relief through Smaug. Again, he wondered if he really had the capabilities to feel that way. Feeling in and of itself was not something he was accustomed to. If anything, he was well acquainted with the seven deadly sins, so anything light of heart or pure was not something he knew.

The dragon-man gave a low grunt to let out a bit of his frustration at the matter as he left the room, politely shutting the door behind him. This whole mess had put him off his food, so he decided that a bit of grooming and redressing of his wound was in order.

He made his way to what looked to be a washroom and (much to his distaste) was greeted with the smell of dwarves. He felt like gagging or tearing the room to shreds, but thought it best to keep his composure. A bit of searching around the very cramped room earned him a candle the scent of something like flowers with a small bite taken from its middle. He rolled his eyes, knowing full well what had done it. Taking a small breath, he summoned the heat from his chest and blew at the candle wick, lighting it. An inner sigh of relief was given. Smaug still wasn’t sure what the limits of his new form were, but as long as he had his fire, not much else mattered.

Now it was time to clean up. He faced the mirror as best as he could, given that he was already on both of his knees and still needed to bend down to see clearly. When he saw his reflection, his eyes widened ever so slightly. Blood was smeared around his mouth and trailing its way down his neck. He looked like a true monster, with his crimson horns, glowing eyes, and patches of scales. Now with his pièce de résistance, he could truly understand why his thief had been terrified of him.

_Oh…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some things should be said...  
> First off, I'M SO SORRY FOR SPOILING!! T.T I really hadn't meant to 'til about next chapter or the one after, maybe. The moment I typed "The King and Two Princes" I literally went, 'CRAP!'... But I thought it fit so well, so I kept it :) Sorry again!  
> Second, I'm so sorry for not uploading anything until now! My brain thinks it's hilarious to have 1-3 days of amazing progress in the field of creativity only to decide it has nothing for days on end afterwards... FORGIVE ME!! I'm hoping I'm out of it now, so look forward to what should hopefully be a speedy update!


	4. The Best Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up in his room, a bit confused and very hungry.

It was a shroud of chill and damp darkness that greeted Bilbo when he woke again rather than the inviting blanket of warmth from the sun he had risen to the morning before. For a moment, he wondered if yesterday had just been a nightmare, despite how realistic it felt. Maybe he had slept his first day back home away? He wouldn’t put it past himself. Though his week respite in the Last Homely House had been very pleasant (spending most of it relaxing, indulging in the banquets he had been offered, and conversing with Lord Elrond and his group of merry Elves) the remainder of his trip had been long and restless. It wouldn’t have surprised him that a whole day was spent sleeping away his troubles and aching bones.

Still, Bilbo knew that his reasoning was foolish. After spending a year sleeping for no more than one or two hours at a time, the body becomes accustomed to the routine. Even in Rivendell he had had this problem. He would try to sleep for as long as he could, only to wake up a few hours later, his body and mind feigning that they were refreshed. It was unfortunate but now that he was home, Mr. Baggins made himself a promise to try and return to his ‘hobbit’ way of living. No more traveling. No more Companies.

No more adventures.

So he sat up, back straight and legs crossed, looking around his dark room. He couldn’t see much in the darkness. Faint shadows and silhouettes could be seen playing about on the walls because of the soft light coming in from the round window. Bilbo remembered opening all of the blinds and shades to let in the gleam of the moon and the shine of the stars, no doubt learning to take a liking to the luminescence during his stay with both the Mirkwood elves and the elves of Rivendell.

Any good feeling the hobbit had spirited away from his body when he remembered what had happened after opening his home to the glimmering lights. The memories returned to him in flashes. Glimpses of claws, fangs, and fury… Of blood, entrancing eyes, and lost friends. An entire spectrum of emotions flooded through Mr. Baggins as he recollected. It forced him to re-experience the day before. These emotions crashed into him in a wave a hurt, mourning, fear, and just a sliver of surprise, or maybe it was shock. A small part of him couldn’t help but think: _how am I still alive?_ He had encountered Smaug the Tyrannical _four_ times now and was still able to tell his tale. Bilbo thought it quite impossible to do such a thing.

 _Why?_ He wondered on and on, pondering on a many other things. How had he returned to his cozy, little bedroom, for example? When Bilbo last sealed his eyes, he was sure dragon-fire was upon him. The dark had taken him and left him for dead on his own kitchen floor. It made no sense to be sitting on his soft bed. And yet, here he was, nestled in a cocoon of blankets atop a mattress of down, still none the wiser on how he had managed to retreat to his chambers.

He sighed and scratched his head. He had had enough of riddles and conundrums thanks to his time in the Goblin Tunnels. Anything more complex than _where am I to find my next meal_ or _is this a safe place to sleep_ just put him in a foul mood. But he was home now and he refused to feel frustrated, and so he shrugged off the issue entirely and decided that, despite the very early (or very late) hour, he was starving. It didn’t matter what was left of his pilfered pantry, he would eat just about anything at the moment.

Thinking of _anything_ conjured up the image of an eviscerated sheep placed on his kitchen table like a sacrifice placed on an altar. With a shudder he groaned and dragged the heel of his hands over his eyes, hoping to wipe away the gruesome mental picture.

Bilbo slid out of his bed as quietly as he could. A tiny squeak left his mouth when his feet, still warm from the confines of his nest of blankets, touched the cold, wooden floor. He slapped a hand over his mouth, mentally kicking himself for alerting Smaug that he was alert now. Finding it not worth his time or energy to continue his search for food in complete silence, he simply walked to his door and pulled it open. He was confident that he could walk through his house without a light, so he deemed it unnecessary.

The hobbit couldn’t take one step out from his bedroom before tripping on some large, heavy obstacle in front of the doorway. He let out a sharp hiss when he landed on his hands and knees, forgetting that the day before he had fallen to his knees and his wrists had been bound (on multiple occasions already).

Forgoing any dignity he had left, Bilbo groaned softly and flopped onto his side. He remained motionless for a while, trying to will the pain away.

The sound of someone, some _thing_ , moving behind him put a stop to his frivolous prayers.

“I see you’re well and with energy, Barrel-rider.” A calm, gravelly voice called from directly behind the Halfling.

“I must refute, O Smaug, and say that my body is aching and is weakened by hunger, instead.” Bilbo replied with a nervous laugh. He didn’t move. He knew not to.

“Oh?” Smaug asked, moving from his spot on the floor and closer to Bilbo. “A body aching and hungry is no good”, he cooed as he hovered himself over the hobbit’s small body. “Your kind is already small, I fear to see the consequences of such ailments.”

Mr. Baggins swallowed. He couldn’t see the dragon-man above him, but he could feel him. The heat from Smaug curled around him like vines of ivy. He might have enjoyed the feeling, had it not been coming from someone who was potentially after his life. “W-Well, I can fix hunger in a jiffy, if you’ll… Um…” He wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation or the position he was in. Upsetting a dragon would certainly mean death, but if he didn’t find something to eat soon he was going to be ill. His luck seemed to run dry now that he was home. He couldn’t catch a break, and the Took in him had left indefinitely now that he had returned to Bag-End.

“Yes?” an incredulous Smaug asked. He was too intrigued with his freshly awakened thief to move away.

“I can go find something… i-i-in the pantry, if you’ll let me.”

The dragon-man made a grunt of displeasure. “Show me this _pantry_ , and I will decide whether or not you may partake in what it has to offer” he said before sliding off of the hobbit. Smaug had to admit, he could come to enjoy conversations with his thief, should they continue to speak.

Bilbo nodded absently as he pulled himself off of the floor. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him, and he wobbled a bit. As he made his way to the pantry, he used the walls as a guide and a crutch should his legs decide to give out. “Here…” he whispered. He yelped when a gust of wind brushed past him and into his larder.

Smaug had never encountered such a place before. It was a tight squeeze for him to move about in the small room, but after finding a few lanterns to light he found it easier to navigate. The room looked plain, and filthier than he would have imagined his thief to keep it. Though the sight was something to be desired, the aroma of the pantry left him with a watering mouth and wanting stomach. He could smell so many different things; cakes, jam, ale, cheese, wine, and… Dwarves. A growl rumbled deep in the back of his throat as he surveyed and took stock of the rest of the pantry. Though he found this new place interesting, the thought of dwarves having been there, pillaging and skulking about, brought a sour taste to his mouth.

Bilbo watched and waited in the hallway patiently, or as patiently as any hungry hobbit could. Having to look at the dragon-man walk around so much food was almost painful to watch when he hadn’t eaten in days. When Smaug began growling, worry began to knot in his stomach. There shouldn’t have been a reason for Smaug to act in that manner. Granted, a lot of the food was sure to be spoiled by now, but that shouldn’t have been anything to _growl_ over.

“Excuse me…” he said, deciding to speak up. “Is something wrong?” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. The dragon snapped his head around, eyes blazing with something akin to anger. The Halfling screamed as Smaug lunged for him, pinning him to the wall outside of the pantry. His heart quickened when he felt Smaug’s breath trailing down his neck, under his loose shirt.

“Tell me, _thief_. Do you ever intend on having those heathen dwarves return to this home?” the dragon-man spat out. The sun was beginning to rise now. Its light filling the house slowly, enough to see the look in Smaug’s eyes.

 _Hurt?_ Bilbo wondered. _Why on earth would he--?_

“Answer me, Barrel-rider!” Smaug bellowed.

“N-No!” Bilbo squeaked out. “I don’t think they have a reason to come back here. They have--” The look in the dragon’s eyes changed, and the hobbit found it wise to shut himself up. “I… I’m sorry…”

Satisfied with his thief’s answer, he gave a nod. His eyebrow raised when the hobbit offered him an apology. “For what reason are you sorry, thief?”

Mr. Baggins looked up at Smaug, his own eyes full of pain and sorrow. “If we… If I hadn’t…” He trailed off, not quite sure what it was he wanted to say. His eyes locked with the dragon-man’s, hoping to find some purchase for his apology. “I’m just… Sorry. For the whole thing.”

Smaug was starting to find his thief more interesting by the minute. Everything the barrel-rider did was unexpected. Apologizing to a dragon? Unheard of! Healing a dragon? Who would if they knew the dragon was ready and willing to murder at the drop of a coin? No one, that’s who! This small creature confounded Smaug in the finest of ways.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the rumbled whine of Bilbo’s stomach. Smaug raised an eyebrow and looked down his thief’s face; bright red with embarrassment. Before he knew it he was smiling, and soon enough laughter erupted from his gut. Pure, hearty laughter. He was laughing so hard he had to remove his hands from around Bilbo’s frame to hold his splitting sides.

Bilbo stood in utter shock for a moment. He had made Smaug the Impenetrable burst into laughter. After the surprise of somehow getting a ruthless, blood-thirsty dragon to laugh, came the heat of embarrassment. His cheeks flushed a deep red and he couldn’t help but look cross at Smaug, which only seemed to make the dragon-man laugh harder. Finally, he caught his own fit of giggles that turned into full-fledged, holding-your-sides, tears-in-the-eyes laughter.

By the end of their laughing bought, they were sprawled on the floor in front of the pantry. They laid next to each other, breathing deeply and letting the random after-snickers come and go as they pleased.

For some time after that they simply laid on the floor together in silence with faint smiles on their faces and wondering when the last time they had felt like that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> This story has not gone the way I thought it would, and I'm very glad for that! I love it when Smaug and Bilbo do something I don't plan!
> 
> Again, thank you so much! Have a great day!
> 
> -bows-


	5. Storytelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finally gets to relax and he meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ello! It's been a while! (Sorry about that...) But hey, did everyone enjoy the last Hobbit movie?? :)

In the wee hours of the morning, the sun hardly peeking over the hills, Bilbo sat by the hearth in his sitting room.  _Finally_ after a long year of adventures he got to sit in his favorite chair. The plush cushions hugged his form in welcome and he all but melted into them.

The establishment was quiet and Bilbo could hear the last of the crickets chirping outside. Their melodies growing slow and somber with the prospect of a day’s rest.

He made himself comfortable as he ran through the last half hour and what needed to be done to get his house back to looking like a respectable hobbit resided there. Cleaning was first and foremost on his list. Not only were the remnants of the dwarves still lying about, but there was over a year’s worth of dust coating nearly every surface. (Not to mention the disaster left by both him and Smaug from the past handful of days.) After cleaning the inside of his home, the next priority would be restocking his pantry.

The saddest thing happened after he and the dragon-man had pulled themselves off the floor and Bilbo remembered just how hungry he was. As the hobbit padded into the larder he realized just how empty it was. To make matters even worse, most of the food that had remained untouched by his Dwarvish brethren was now spoiled, leaving even less for the picking. In the end, he ate as much as his hollow belly would allow of jams and preserves. While a little stale, they were edible and Bilbo consumed them with relish, fighting back the tears that had welled up in the corners of his eyes. The dragon-man had questioned his behavior and he simply replied in a quavering voice, “It tastes like home.”

Soon after that, Smaug had informed him that he would be gone for a majority of the day (Bilbo didn’t dare ask why or where his destination might be) so Bilbo was blessedly alone in his cozy abode. He hadn’t quite figured out if there was a way to politely request a dragon to leave one’s home and never return, and he didn’t very much feel like trying to find one. So, until the day Smaug the House Guest decided to find himself a new den or cave or mountain, Bilbo would be living with him. A part of the hobbit didn’t mind, really. The company would be nice to have and if anything Smaug was great protection to have against whatever evils are in the world. Bilbo had always thought the dragon-man (in his true form) was the most terror-inducing creature (next to orcs and goblins that is) but after hearing the warnings from Gandalf and the Elf Lords… he wasn’t sure what to think.

With a sigh, he leaned further into his comfy chair and wondered how much more of the world there was to see.  _Plenty_ , he figured. The question was: did he want to see it all? Possibly. He could admit that there was something inside him that Gandalf had stirred, making Bilbo remember things he sworn he had long forgotten. Memories of an adventurous young lad trailing in mud and twigs and fireflies. There was definitely something in him that was set aflutter at the mere speculation of seeing what the world could show him. But with the recent journey still weighing on his mind, he feared he wouldn’t be up for anything of that nature any time soon.

He took the bit of his long pipe into his mouth and breathed in deeply. He gladly let the feeling of calm overtake him. The tobacco he was using came straight from a reserve in the Lonely Mountain. It had an oaky, earthy note to it when lit that reminded him of Thorin. While thoughts of the fallen King made his heart ache, he was enjoying the sentiment it brought him.

He wondered what would have happened if Thorin and his nephews hadn’t died during the Battle. Would the King have come to visit his humble home?  _Probably not_ , Bilbo mused, chuckling to himself. Not even the Halfling would expect someone of such a stature to travel leagues just to visit a hole in the ground. That being said… would Thorin have asked him to stay in Erebor? Another guess in the negative came from the hobbit. He had nothing to offer, save his loyalty and kinship. And while those attributes are lovely in and of themselves, they do not add up for a race that takes pride and value in strength.

Thoughts of Erebor led back to the memories he had made on his long and arduous journey. Flashes of fire and gold, of settlements both rustic and fantastic, of a house surrounded by bees… Bilbo let his hand travel down to his trouser pocket where a small bauble of sorts lay resting. He smiled, taking out the contents. The little acorn he had taken from Beorn’s garden sat in his palm, no worse for wear even after being carried through battle. Bilbo promised himself he would plant it as soon as possible.

That was another task on Bilbo’s list of things to fully re-assimilate himself into Hobbiton: make his garden look as beautiful as it did the day Gandalf came to greet him. Just from what he could make out by the moonlight when he had returned, there was a lot of work that needed to be done.

Perhaps he would inquire to Hamfast about becoming his gardener, if only long enough that the garden looked somewhat presentable. He knew the hobbit well and knew his services were desired by most in the Shire. Bilbo could certainly pay him for the help.

His ears perked when he heard a horse and carriage plodding along the beaten trails. The hooves making  _k-clop, k-clop, k-clop_ sounds as the horse and its burden made their way. The familiar sounds sent a chill down Bilbo’s spine. It was almost as if he had forgotten something…!

“MYRTLE!” he screamed as he dashed out of his house, slamming the door behind him.

By the time he arrived at the valley where he had left his mare, the poor hobbit was wheezing for breath having sprinted the whole way there.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Bilbo!” A friendly and recognizable voice called out to him. “Is this your beauty here?” The hobbit asked, petting the pony on her velvet snout. “She’s a sweet thing, she is.”

“Ha! Well I’ll be! Master Hamfast!” Bilbo panted as he walked the rest of the way towards his good friend. He greeted Myrtle with a chirp of ‘hello, girl’ giving the mare an apple he had snatched off of Twofoot’s apple tree. “Not exactly mine, but given to me all the same,” he answered. “What on earth are you doing out here this early?”

Mr. Gamgee nodded. “Ah, well, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking morning strolls. It’s the time of year for it, what with spring leaving soon. And here I stumble upon such a lovely girl. She’s a beaut, Mr. Bilbo, and far tamer than that Farmer Maggot’s dogs, she is.”

Bilbo laughed in agreement. “Oh yes, she’s a good girl,” he praised, stroking her mane. “She got me home from the Last Homely House.”

“You don’t mean the House of Lord Elrond?” Hamfast gasped.

“I do, I do. Lord Elrond is a good elf, and very hospitable. Even to the guests without so much as proper table manners.”

“Haha! I have heard rumors of his kindness. It seems you bring back the truth! Is that where you have been all this time, Mr. Bilbo? In Rivendell with the merry Woodland Elves?”

Bilbo nodded. “I stayed there twice. The first being a pleasant hostel on the way to the Lonely Mountain, the second, a much needed respite after the long journey and the events that came with it.”

Hamfast seemed to notice his friend’s wistful change in demeanor, for he placed a plump, work-worn hand onto Bilbo’s shoulder. “I would very much like to hear about this journey of yours, Mr. Bilbo. And by the looks of it, you would very much like to speak with someone about it.”

He looked up, tears springing to his eyes in gratitude. “Thank you, Master Hamfast. I would like to, but I fear it will take far longer than a morning’s walk to tell it.”

With a hearty laugh, the hand that was resting on Bilbo’s shoulder clapped it in jest. “There is always time for a good story! Come,” he said, steering Bilbo towards the open field. “Tell me how this journey began!”

“Well, it started off like any other day,” Bilbo hummed as they went along. Myrtle followed a few paces behind them. “I was sitting in the garden when…”

 

For ages it seemed the pair strolled along while Bilbo spun his tale, revealing everything about his last year (save him finding his ring). Every so often, Mr. Gamgee would ask a question (usually something about The Company) and Bilbo would happily expound any and all details that he could. As dawn moved into day then into afternoon, they found a large tree with an abundance of shade to sit under. The outside world was forgotten as Bilbo continued, but that was simply the way it was with Mr. Baggins, for he was a born storyteller. Towards the end of his tale, he hesitated more, surprised at how much it hurt to actually speak to others about his fallen friends.

Hamfast was a great friend and listener during this time. Lending a shoulder for Bilbo to cry on, a comforting hand on slightly trembling shoulders, even giving his handkerchief to Bilbo when the moment called. Gamgee was admittedly surprised that Bilbo, of all hobbits, was not carrying one. He chalked it up to a habit taken from the journey and never once asked Bilbo about it.

Bilbo, for his part, found that recounting the story had both its good and bad attributes. Good because it felt nice to have someone know of the amazing adventure he had been on. He enjoyed telling Hamfast about the people he met, the places he had been, the things he had done… The only bad that came from his storytelling was the unexpected amount of aching in his chest. It hurt to relive certain parts, but in the end, Bilbo knew it was for the best.

There was no use holding onto ghosts…

 

By the time Bilbo had finished, and both hobbits had made their way back to the skirts of the Shire the time was nearing for afternoon tea. They bid their farewells to Myrtle and headed into town. Ham invited Bilbo over for a nice, warm meal which the latter hobbit graciously accepted.

Once there, the two talked of trivial things while Bilbo happily filled his stomach. Every now and then they could hear Ham and Bell’s little ones giggling throughout the hole.

By the time four ‘o clock came around, Bell waddled into the kitchen, her face dawned with worry.

Bilbo greeted her with a warm hug and smile, thanking her for the biscuits they had eaten during tea.

“Of course, Mr. Bilbo! But do either of you know what the devil is going on outside? It’s as crowded as a flea market!”

Both hobbits shot up to look out the nearest window. Indeed, the roads were crowded with hobbits of varying ages. And they all seemed to be going towards…

“Master Hamfast, Lady Bell, thank you for your hospitality, but I really should get to the bottom of this,” Bilbo said quickly before letting himself out, but not before promising to be in touch very soon. After that, he ran towards his home growing more and more worried by the second.

So many hobbits were gathered in the roads, some waiting in a line while others were pushing their way to the front. More than once Bilbo found himself being shoved aside. The closer he got the more suspicious he became. He could have sworn he knew the tablecloth someone was carrying away like they had won it as a prize. And that chair looked awfully familiar… Wait just a—was that his mother’s glory box?!

“Excuse—EXCUSE ME!” the very ruffled hobbit shouted when he finally made it to his front garden. He just barely caught the attention of the older gentlehobbit who was standing at the makeshift podium. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Ah, Mr. Bilbo!” he greeted cordially before realization dawned on his face. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Baggins scoffed, “The only thing I am ‘supposed to be’ is in my house, thank you very much!”

“And how do we know you are who you claim to be?” A grouchy, lady’s voice squawked from amidst the crowd.

Bilbo felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at the shrill noise. “You know  _exactly_ who I am, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!” he retorted, pushing through the mass of hobbits and stalking up to her. “And these are  _my_ spoons!” He snatched the silver utensils from her before making his way through his garden.

A shout of “She’s right, you know!” was quickly followed by another squeak of ascent which quickly spread other doubts and yelling through the throng like wildfire.

Mr. Baggins, at his wits ends, joined in on the shouting. Fairly soon it became a screaming match between himself and the towns folk.

It wasn’t until a booming, low voice dominated the mob of hobbits that a sort of calm cast over the gathering. “Barrel-rider! What is the meaning of this?”

Bilbo felt his stomach drop. He had completely forgotten about Smaug while in the company of Hamfast and during his time in the fray of shouts and accusations. His face heated in a flush, feeling frustrated and embarrassed all at once. What was he to say to the dragon-man? Even more of importance: what was he to say to the whole of Hobbiton?! The silence of the crowd washed over him uncomfortably. He loathed the idea of turning around and seeing the mix of shock and disgusted faces of his friends and neighbors.

“F-Funny,” he started, his voice stuttering, “I said the exactly same thing not 10 minutes earlier...”

He could see one of Smaug’s eyebrows raise as he took in the sight of both him and the rest of the Shire folk. There was no doubt he found Bilbo’s blight amusing.

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins!” Lobelia’s piercing voice called out from behind him. “What is this  _creature_ doing at your establishment? Surely he is no man!”

“W-Well, you see—”

“You are correct in assuming I am not a man.” Smaug interrupted. The dragon's demeanor seemed to change. Before he put on an air of amusement and curiosity but now he had an aura of warning about him and features which showed distaste. “No. I’m am much…  _much_ more deadly.” His voice dropped even lower with his threat.

Bilbo felt himself grow weak in the knees, fearing how this scene could play out. Knowing Lobelia, she would continue her persistent nagging and end up no more than a pile of ash. Though she was a greedy and often hateful hobbit, she was still family. And in pure honesty, Bilbo did not want to attend another funeral any time soon.

“Now, now,” he quelled, taking careful steps towards the dragon-man. “There’s no need for that. Let us all, calm down for a moment, yeah?” Now closer to Smaug, he could see that the creature needed his bandages redressed. As for the dilemma going on in his garden… “For the record, I am  _not_ dead,” he stated to the crowd, “and I would appreciate it if all of my belongings stayed where they belong!”

Quickly he ushered the dragon inside, whispering, “I’ll take care of your wound in a moment.” Another look back showed him that the lot were clearing off his property, which Bilbo was grateful for. Between the past couple of days and bringing up memories when he told his story to Gamgee, the Halfling wasn’t sure if he could handle much more.

When everyone had left, he scampered back into his home, slamming the round door behind him. The metal of the door felt cool on Bilbo’s back despite the warm sun that had been shining down for most of the day. Without much warning, his legs lost their strength and sent him sliding to the floor.

He sighed, burying his face in his knees which he had pulled up to his chest.

 _What a day…_ he thought.

The smell of rich spices, gold, and what could only be described as fire filled his nose when a puff of warm air rolled over his messy curls. He looked up to find Smaug’s face hardly a few inches away from his. He gave a sad smile to the dragon-man.

“How about a cup of tea before I change your bandages?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promise to have another chapter up soon! (Chapter 6 has already begun~)  
> Stay beautiful!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> This is my first Smaugbo fanfic ever! Even though I'm a huge fan of The Hobbit (and Bilbo!) I never got to read the book because of time issues, but I finally did! So this is what happens! I'm also a huge fan off having Smaug in The Shire!
> 
> Anyways, sorry for rambling! Again, thank you!
> 
> -bows-
> 
> Have a great evening, afternoon, night, and morning! I'm starting on the next chapter as we speak!


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